


Chains

by Lilith Connor (amberfox17)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Harry, M/M, Mind Games, Sexual Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/Lilith%20Connor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort has fallen and Harry Potter has become the new Dark Lord. Draco has been spared but is now completely in Harry's power. Slave!Draco/DarkLord!Harry smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains

_Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. I tell thee I am damn'd and now in hell._

Draco shifted his weight carefully, trying to ease the chafing around his neck. The fingers in his hair tightened painfully, informing Draco that his master did not approve of the movement. Draco submitted instantly, trying to ignore the pull of the iron collar around his neck. He could feel eyes upon him, mostly disgust, though some gloated in his public shaming. Only one gaze filled with pity. That damn Granger girl. The part of Draco that remembered Malfoy pride resented this - how dare a Mudblood feel pity for him? - but the rest of him had to hold back tears at how far he had fallen. His father had always insisted on Draco learning the correct way for a Malfoy to behave in public, and crying was expressly forbidden. No weaknesses. At least his father could not see him now, was not subjected to seeing Draco's very public hell. 

***

For Draco, the nightmare had begun in that last battle, watching his regal father topple to the ground as Snape, the traitor, stood victorious over him. Draco had raced to his father's side but Lucius was gone, leaving only a noble husk. He had been vaguely aware of Snape kneeling beside him, but Draco had no anger left for Snape's betrayal. Somewhere in his mind, a numb voice noted that at least his father had died in battle, at the hand of someone he respected, and that Snape seemed as grief-stricken as Draco. He was rewarded with a brief epiphany into the relationship between his father and Snape, but it had seemed irrelevant next to the crushing weight of his grief.

Wrapped up in his private world of mourning, he was oblivious to the monumental events occurring around him. The death of Dumbledore and Harry Potter's final, fierce duel with Lord Voldemort passed him by, as did the jubilation when the Boy Who Lived became the Man Who Killed Voldemort. It was only when Draco was dragged from the body of his father to be flung at Potter's feet that the reality had come crashing in. He had stared into his nemesis' emerald eyes and felt the beginnings of terror.

"Well, well...Draco Malfoy," Potter had said with a cruel smirk far removed from his usual Golden Griffindor grin. "No...he'll not go to Azkaban with the others. Keep him in Grimmuald Place for now." 

Three months he had been locked in that dark house, his wand burnt to ashes, kept far away from any contact with living beings. His fear had bred in that darkness and begun to swamp him as he had contemplated what his fate might be. Despite the collapse of his future, he did not want to die; neither did he want to be imprisoned for the rest of his days. The solitary confinement to the house was driving him out of his mind; he dared not think what a cell would do to him. The Dementors might be long since destroyed but there were other kinds of guards, other kinds of torture...Draco had refused to cry, even at the loneliest and most terrifying hours of the night. He was all that was left of the Malfoys - he had to carry on with dignity.

When they finally led him blinking into the sunlight, it was to find that the whole world had been turned upside down. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. This one was paved with the very best.

After the carnage of the Second War had been cleared up, a kind of peace had settled over the wizarding world. However, most of the Ministry had been killed or imprisoned - Potter was taking no chances with the few remaining Death eaters - and those left in authority were leaderless and afraid. Tentatively, they had asked Potter for help, and he had responded with suggestions and recommendations that his close associates - namely the Order members - be placed in positions of power. All very sensible; these were the most trustworthy and reliable people in this new age, so Hogwarts was given to Hermione Granger and the Minister of Magic position was conferred on Ron Weasley. Naturally, these two consulted Harry every time there was a decision to be made. Potter grew to enjoy power, as so many had before him, and slowly his suggestions became commands, and almost without anyone noticing, Potter took control of the entire wizarding community. The other wizarding nations automatically deferred to him and so the Boy Who Lived progressed from the Man Who Killed Voldemort to the Lord Who Ruled All.

Draco had collapsed in hysterics when this was explained to him. It was too bloody ironic.

They had taken him to a great mansion, Potter's personal residence, where his council sat and his will was made real. Escorted into an enormous hall, he had seen the long table --reminiscient of Hogwarts in a sick way - then lifted his eyes to the raised dais, and the black marble throne that sat above all else. His knees had shook at the sight of Potter, imposing in black robes, sitting regally on that throne, his only symbol of power the wand in his lap. His guards had had to half-drag, half-carry him the length of the hall, and thrown him before the dais, leaving him to a private judgement. It had been him and potter, and Draco had not been able to look up.

"Scared, Malfoy?" laughed the new Dark Lord.

An old memory of a student duel floated through Draco's mind. So long ago now...

"At least you have the sense to kneel before me," continued the voice, much deeper than his predecessors, yet just as cold. "I am almost expected defiance...but you are too afraid to even look at me."

That stung through his fear and Draco lifted his head angrily, poised to lash out in scorn. The expression on Potter's face turned the words to dust in his mouth. Hunger.

"You look good on your knees, Malfoy."

Sweet Merlin, no. Oh, please, no.

"But then...you've always looked good. For all those years in school you looked good. You were always tempting me..." Potter was watching him closely, watching the colour drain Draco's face and the fear creep across his features as he began to understand. "And now you're in my power. Now, you belong to me."

Potter was rising, stepping down and...no, hell no, Draco could see his erection through his robes...he blinked fiercely, driving back tears, this could not be happening... "Never, Potter," Draco rasped, overcoming his fear as Potter closed the distance between them. Draco was not averse to having a male lover, had done so frequently in the past, and was even prepared to admit that once or twice he had thought of Potter and wondered...but this was no proposition. Draco would be no man's sex toy. Ever. "You'll have to kill me. I'd rather die than belong to you," he spat, trying to put conviction into the words.

Potter grinned, resembling a particularly bloodthirsty shark, and raised his wand.

" _Crucio!_ "

Draco screamed, writhing in agony, back arching as he scrabbled at the air. The pain was too intense, sweet Lord it hurt and he was going to die, he had to be dying...I don't to want to die, I want to live, oh, please, I want to live...abruptly it was over and Draco lay panting on the floor.

"You're lying, Malfoy." Potter's face was too close, too damned close. "You don't want to die. You want to live. You'd do anything to live."

Draco stared in those mocking eyes and could not lie.

"I...I don't want to die," he admitted brokenly.

"So, you have a choice." Potter's pupils dilated, the black swamping the green. Slytherin green. Why had Draco never thought of that? "You can submit yourself to me...or I can kill you. And we both know you don't want to die. So it's a yes or no answer, Malfoy. Do you belong to me?"

"Yes," Draco whispered miserably, hating his fear of dying, dreading what this would mean.

"Good boy," Potter drawled, raising his wand again. Draco tensed but the spell was unfamiliar and washed over him without pain. He shivered suddenly, feeling a cold breeze moving over bare skin. Bare skin? He looked down, then back to Potter in disbelief. Potter had completely stripped him, putting him completely on display. Anger rolled over him as he pictured how he must look.

"What the hell - " he began furiously but was cut off by another spasm of pure agony.

"You will address me as `Master'," Potter said curtly, stepping over the prone Draco to retrieve something from his throne. Something that clanked.

Draco had shuddered as the cold metal had been clamped around his neck and magically sealed. Only Potter could release him, and from the spark in his eyes and the possessive way he murmured `Mine', Draco had known that he would wear the collar for a very long time. He had naively thought it a mere symbol, until he tried to crawl away Potter and felt the tug at his neck. A heavy chain connected his collar to the arm of the throne, allowing him only to move to the edge of the dais. He had stood, frozen in shock, as Potter returned to his throne and tugged the chain sharply.

"Heel, Malfoy."

Draco had not responded, too caught up in the shame that he had submitted and that he was going to live like this - a prisoner again! - and had been subjected to another bout of pain. Shaking, he had obeyed the command, kneeling by the throne. Potter had patted him on the head like an obedient dog and then summoned his council. Draco had tasted bile as he had realised that he was not only going to be Potter's private slave, but also his very public pet. Shame had filled him and he had bowed his head before them.

***

Months later and Draco no longer rebelled against commands. He had felt enough pain to last a lifetime and the mere raising of Potter's wand was enough to cow him into submission. It had not been technically rape but it was sure as hell not Draco's will, and potter had used his body mercilessly, laughing at Draco's rage and disgust. Draco's defiance had not lasted, even when commanded to pleasure his Lord, and he now obeyed, if not willingly, with all his skill and experience. Potter seemed almost disappointed in Draco's submission and recently had tried a new tactic - one that was proving much more effective in breaking Draco's spirit.

The first Potter had reached for Draco's cock, he had yelped in surprise and frozen completely, allowing Potter precious time to arouse his treacherous body. Much as Draco resisted, Potter knew what he was doing and Draco had climaxed filled with self-loathing. It had taken a swift curse to force Draco back to submission and he had bent his head, unable to bear the self-satisfied smirk on Potter's face.

Since then, Potter had take care to always take his own pleasure before turning his attention to Draco. However, the bastard was a skilled lover when he chose to be and Draco hated himself for how good it felt and how much he enjoyed it.

He hated himself more when he realised he craved Potter's touch. That he missed the sex if Potter went away. That he needed Potter.

***

Draco heard his master sign impatiently as he ran fingers through ice-blond hair. Despite his mind's protest, Draco's body thrilled - Potter was growing weary of endless talk and that meant he wanted a diversion. Inevitably, a Draco-shaped diversion. A few barked commands and the Council were evicted; Draco obediently uncoiled himself and knelt between his master's legs, awaiting instructions. Potter seemed in a strange mood, as he kept stroking Draco's hair idly, instead of swiftly ordering his pet to whatever form of pleasure he so desired. Hesitantly, Draco leant forwards and began to remove Potter's robes, the usual start to the proceedings, but Potter remained silent and still, running fingers through the white strands and across Draco's pale face. Draco had never done anything of his own initiative before, but fearing reprisals if he did nothing, he exposed Potter's chest, criss-crossed with scars and took one firm nipple into his mouth. He knew that Potter particularly enjoyed this and was rewarded with a soft moan as he grazed the hard nub with his teeth. Draco could feel Potter's cock beginning to stir but ignored it, concentrating on the firm chest.

Potter's hands finally left his hair and were roaming across Draco's chest and back, teasing hard nipples but not settling. Draco shivered slightly and pressed himself more firmly against Harry, hands reaching for his master's flies. Harry moaned again, much louder, as Draco eased the throbbing erection out from the constrains of his trousers and lightly ran slender hands up and down the shaft. Harry squeezed Draco's shoulders tightly; Draco responded by trailing down Harry's chest until his hot mouth found the pulsing cock and he flicked his tongue over the head, tasting the precome. Harry gasped and his hips bucked; the dark man looked down with smouldering eyes to meet Draco's silver gaze, releasing Draco's shoulders to run his hand down Draco's cheek.

Draco backed off quickly, standing and walking to the edge of the dais, chain stretched taut. Slowly, eyes fixed on Harry, he wrapped his hand around his own rising erection and began to slide it up and down until it was as hard and aching as Harry's. Harry licked his lips but remained silent.

Draco was slightly puzzled; Harry had never been silent before. Devoid of commands, he stood still for a few moments before his own lust spoke, driving him back to between Harry's legs. Before he could kneel, Harry reached for him and pulled him forcefully into his lap. Theirs cocks thrust against each other and they both gasped at the thrill. This was unprecedented - sitting on his lap? - but Draco was too far gone in lust to consider anything but his desperate need. He heard Harry mutter a spell, then felt a cool, lubricated finger entering him. Shuddering, he pushed himself against it, unaware that he had begun to beg.

"More...please, more...sweet...more..." he gasped, feeling a second and third finger enter, widening and preparing him. "You...please, you, want...ohhh..." Draco's eyes fluttered as Harry obliged, easing himself into Draco until he was fully sheathed in Draco's tight flesh. Harry stilled, allowing Draco to adjust to the penetration. Their breath was ragged and Draco opened his eyes to revel in Harry's face, flushed with desire. He gripped Harry's shoulders and began to move, gasping at the sensation of Harry sliding in and out of him.

Draco ground his hips against Harry harder and faster as the pleasure began to build, all pride and dignity lost in lust. His world shrank to this chair, to the feel of Harry beneath him - completely new, Harry had never allowed Draco to be above him - and the fire in his blood as he rode Harry, watching his master losing control as he thrust frantically. Abruptly, he became conscious of Harry's moaning - it couldn't be -

"Draco...ohh, harder, Draco, yes..."

Draco? He had not heard his name in half a year and now Harry was gasping it, as if he and Draco were lovers, not master and slave...even as this registered, Harry gripped Draco's neglected cock and began to pump him hard, in time with Harry's frenzied thrusting. It was...oh, it was...he was going to...Draco could feel himself getting closer...their faces were inches apart as never before...Harry was leaning forward...

Hot lips met Draco's and an eager tongue sought entry to his mouth.

Draco had not been kissed for so long.

It was good.

Draco had felt Harry's skilful hands on him before, had reached dizzying heights of pleasure, then crashed to depths of self-loathing once he was spent. But this kiss - this kiss captured his soul. He kissed back passionately, plundering Harry's mouth, feeling more connected to Harry than ever before.

Abruptly, Harry broke the kiss as he shuddered to completion, his seed filling Draco as he cried his name. Draco followed, plunging into his climax, oblivious to the fact that was screaming his master's name over and over.

Draco slumped against Harry, heart beating frantically. He couldn't summon the energy to tense as Harry wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his neck. He's hugging me? A small voice screamed at him that he was betraying everything, he was betraying his father and his Malfoy name; how could he want or need the man who had humiliated him, hurt him and enslaved him; but the voice was easily squashed as Draco relished the warmth and feel of Harry's body.

Draco felt Harry's breath against his neck before his mind registered the word.

" _Alohomora._ "

The collar clicked and slid from Draco's neck, hitting the floor with a dull clang. Draco straightened slowly and carefully climbed down from Harry's lap, avoiding eyes contact. He turned and walked away, finally stepping down from the dais.

For the first time in months, he stood proudly, like a true Malfoy. He was free.

Behind him, Harry said softly but clearly:

"Goodbye, Draco."

Draco turned to stare at the man who had held him as a slave. Harry was smiling sadly, clothes still in disarray, flushed and dishevelled. Draco stared at the body he knew so intimately, at the face of the most powerful Lord the world had ever seen.

At the lips of the man he couldn't live without.

Freely, willing, Draco approached the throne and knelt between Harry's legs, resting his head in his master's lap.

"Harry," he whispered as familiar fingers began to stroke his hair. Draco closed his eyes, smiling, and did not see the light of triumph in Lord Potter's eyes.

Some chains are forged far stronger than iron.

_Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,  
And all is dross that is not Harry._

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes are from Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe and are mildly mangled. This was the first fanfic I ever wrote, back in 2003. I don't know quite what that says about me as a person. It could really, really do with a rewrite, but I'm preserving it in all its awkward teen writing glory instead. Originally archived at RestrictedSection.org.


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